Inhuman
by Burnedtoasty
Summary: G1: It's in the nature of humanity to be inhuman; to fall to fear and then to hate what has made them quake so... even those who would reach out to help.


**Disclaimer**: _I, in no way, shape, or form, own the Transformers© franchise or the characters it contains. All publicly recognizable characters are copyrighted to Hasbro, and the respective artists/writers/et cetera. No infringement intended._

**Continuity**: Generation One (G1) cartoon-verse.

**Characters**: Bluestreak, Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, Ratchet, Jazz, Skywarp, Thundercracker

**Warnings**: War violence, casualties.

**Author's Note**: Criticism encouraged, technical points preferable.

--

_There is only one way in which one can endure man's inhumanity to man, and that is to try, in one's own life, to exemplify man's humanity to man._ - Alan Paton

--

"Blue, high up, three o'clock!"

The gunner pivoted on one leg, dropping down to one knee, firearm lifting toward the indicated area. It took but mere astroseconds to take idle aim, his barrel lazily drifting slightly ahead of the figure. Nosecone, fuselage, wing—

_Bam_!

The blue seeker wailed, smoke unfurling in a long train from its wounded wing, torn to shreds by the wind. Its nosecone twisted downward sharply, spiraling as the remaining chunks of its wing began to fall. Behind it, the black and purple jet followed, transforming mid-dive to seize his companion's stabilizers, hauling back to end his wild plummet.

Bluestreak took aim once more, tacking the velocity, the angle—

_Bam_!

The second Decepticon cried out, releasing the captured fins in surprise. Without the opposing force of his wingmate's engines, Thundercracker continued on his plunge, disappearing behind the fringe of buildings. A plume of smoke announced his landing, ominous and black against the blue of the sky.

The sniper's lips turned up in a triumphant grin. Now, to bring down the—

"Ack! Blue, help!"

Immediately, his head snapped around, optics bright and focused. Jazz waved at him with his remaining free hand, grappling with the larger form of Soundwave. "The – umph – people, in the cars, fire!" He pointed behind him, a second before the Decepticon sent him flying into a light pole, flopping senselessly to the tarmac.

"What?" The gunner asked dumbly, twisting further about to view the area indicated. The freeway—

Oh.

The massive pile-up, caused by the two seeker trines' earlier weapons improvisation – human forms were still scattered amongst the wreckage, frail bodies succumbing to both fire and fumes, trapped in the cage of metal and buckled cement.

Rising smoothly out of his crouch, the gunner sprinted toward the crash, subspacing his armament as he went. "Hold on! I'll get you out of there," He called, skidding to a halt and grasping the undercarriage of the foremost vehicle in one motion. With the strain of gears and synthetic sinew, he rolled the impediment 

away, stooping low to look under the overturned truck. The corpse of a human-bred canine was half crushed beneath the bulk of the machine, paws outstretched toward freedom, caught in mid-lunge. In the driver's seat, an older male specimen lay crumpled against the door, blood running from both his lips and his nose, eyes shuttered, jaw slack.

Dead.

Grimacing, Bluestreak shoved the truck away, ignoring the squelch caused by the cadaver beneath. An SUV lay on its side behind the truck, lower end caved in by a hard impact with the crumpled Ford beside it.

Leaning over the roof, Bluestreak looked within. Two small human sparklings lay slumped in their seats, strapped to the cushions by their belts. One – the smaller of the two – moaned, eyelids flickering.

"Hold on," Bluestreak repeated, wrenching open the partially destroyed door. With a crack and a groan, it pulled free, discarded carelessly beside him.

"Huhnn…." The child sobbed, as the Autobot's hands curled gently around his waist, the other hand tearing the cloth buckle free of its moorings.

With a decidedly careful air, Bluestreak pulled the human free, cradling it in his arms. One leg was twisted awkwardly, bent just below the kneecap. It would live – but most likely crippled, if his limited knowledge of human anatomy was to be trusted.

Holding the boy with one hand, he again reached inside, digging for the other sparkling. It had to be…

Oh, no.

"Ma?" Asked the rescued child, delirious. "Hurts."

Bluestreak withdrew his hand, fingertips dappled with ruddy fluid. The shard of glass had gone right through the second sparkling's chest, the gap between its endoskeleton ribcage. It had bled out, gone cold in deactivation.

Adjusting his grip on the saved sparkling, the gunner turned about, trotting toward the far side of the road, the sounds of battle echoing in his audios. "Stay here. Help will get here soon." He told the child gently, setting him down upon the ground with utmost tenderness, far from the disastrous pile-up.

"Tommy? Ma?" Asked the boy, again, feebly.

Bluestreak shook his head sadly, rising back to his feet. "Just… wait."

With that, he turned again loping to the crash site. The SUV rocked slightly as he turned it, peering into the driver's seat. A human female – as far as he could tell – remained inside, flopping lifelessly. A brief scan of vital functions, against the baseline provided by Spike – deactivated.

Grunting, he shoved aside the tomb of a car, going onto hands and kneepads to peer into the Ford. Empty. That was a relief. The second car beside it, a Bug, also abandoned.

He pulled the Volkswagen aside, the metal screeching on concrete, leaving green streaks of paint to mark its path. An older model of automobile – also empty – crouched behind that, easily removed as it was still upon all four wheels.

"Slag," The gunner swore, optics flicking over the three trapped vehicles, caught between the fallen logs of a logging truck and the ground. Fire licked at the wood, inching toward the vehicles, insidious and deceptively low. If it got to the flammable fluids within…

Shoving with all his might, he wrestled the first logs off, grimacing as the stack began to slide forward, crunching across crackled windshields, rolling languidly onto the tarmac.

The first one freed – a Lamborghini, a sporty car with an uncanny resemblance to Sideswipe – held two human adolescents, heads lolling as the flames licked at their backseat.

Tearing the car open like a canister of rations, Bluestreak hefted the pair up, sprinting with their floppy bodies cradled in his arms, to lay them beside the child. Three, safe and sound, while the battle moved steadily away, the Decepticons retreating into the distance.

Back again, to the other two cars.

A woman was conscious, in the next one, looking around in panic as she awoke to smoke and flame.

"Hold on, miss. I'll get you out."

She looked up, face going slack and white with shock. Her mouth dropped open, and an unholy shriek released itself, high and tight with fear.

"Wait! Miss, don't get hysterical. I'll get you out!" Bluestreak tried to calm the woman, hooking his fingers in the passenger side door as she rattled her own doorway, unable to make the wing open with the log in the way.

"Help! Oh, God, _help_!" She screamed, water leaking down her face, streaking her mascara. "Oh, God, oh God help me, help me!"

The door came free grudgingly, tossed to the sidelines with a callous flick. Grunting, Bluestreak wedged his hand inside, attempting to get a hold of the panicking woman. "Miss, please, hold still." He hissed, at last catching hold of her narrow waist, dragging her sideways from the flaming vehicle. No time for gentleness, not with the blaze drawing so close and another car awaiting liberation.

"No! Oh, God, help! Help! Ah! Let _go_ of me, let go! Monster, help!" She continued railing, flailing her arms and legs against his hold. "_Let go_!"

"Please, miss, I'm just trying to hel—" Something hard thunked into the side of Bluestreak's head.

Incredulous, he turned about, confronted with the image of three young males and one older female, standing grimly near the wreckage. Each held some manner of debris in their hands, expressions hard.

A second object, hurled with deadly accuracy, bouncing against his chest pathetically.

"Monster! Let her go!"

"Freak! Abomination! Get away!"

"Let her go, you monster!"

"Wait…" He said weakly, stumbling back. "You don't understand, I—"

More garbage flung from uncaring hands, thudding and clanking against his body, his face, his door wings. The humans continued relentlessly, mercilessly forward, lobbing projectiles and insults, harsh words hitting with more precision than their pitiable weaponry.

The captured female continued to writhe, clawing at his delicate finger joints. "Oh, please, let me go, please, please please, I don't want to die, let me go, please."

His grip loosened, allowing her to slip free and hit the ground in a sprawl of lankly limbs and blonde tresses. She cried out in pain, cradling her knees, sobbing pathetically. The mob gasped in shock and outrage, continuing to advance, driving him further back.

"I- I, wait, you don't, I didn't," Bluestreak continued to ineffectually murmur, driven back by the mass. A few more stragglers streamed in, survivors and spectators rising against him, pushing him back from the remaining vehicle, and the humans trapped within, just awakening from their stupor. A small child's head peeked over the backseat, bewildered, half-streaked with blood and sweat. Her wide eyes swept across the devastation, glistening, before resting on his own optics.

'_Help_.'

The conflagration drew closer, igniting spilled fuel, creeping its way toward the remaining deathtrap.

"Wait!" He cried out, holding a hand up to hold off the ruthless attack, cringing. "Please, wait, behind you- the fire—"

One human, an older male, stood forward, holding up a glinting piece of jewelry from his chest, in a warding gesture, calling invocations against him. The others rallied to him, hurling ever more objects.

Hate and fear of the self-righteous, eyes glittering with it, mouths spewing it – _why_? Didn't they understand? The last car – they could still be saved, if he could get past the mass, get to the car.

Behind the mob, the trapped humans continued to pound on the glass, eyes and cheeks glistening with sweat and tears, unnoticed by the horde. Larger objects, now, bolder attacks – a rock dented in his hood, another breaking his rightmost headlight in a spray of sparks and glass.

_Why_? Why so much hate, so much loathing? Uncomprehending, he stared down at the fleshlings in horror, mouth opening and closing ineffectually, silently asking, again, _why_?

"Blue, get back! It's gonna blow!"

Hands around his arms, his shoulders, hauling him away. Hateful words following behind, faces twisted, spittle flying. They were still too close to the cars, to the fire – didn't they understand?

The entrapped child screamed, pounding futilely, desperate and choking as the oily smoke filled her car. A small hand pressed to the glass, white and delicate. '_Help me_.'

An explosion ripped through the air, and everything went white.

--

"…luestreak?"

"Nnuh… Ratch?"

"Mmph. He'll be fine." The medic grunted, voice gruffer than usual. The probing hand left his scorched front, clamping back down the opened chest plate. "Gave us quite a scare, though. Can you see?"

With effort, Bluestreak activated his optics, groaning. Yes, there was Ratchet, with an anxious Sideswipe beside him, a mostly aloof Sunstreaker staring down haughtily, masking his own worry. Both were blackened, paint peeling and bubbled from exposure to heat. Did they pull him back? Back from… whatever that was. Hazy images floated in his processor, niggling memories clamoring for attention. Discomfited, he shoved them away, for the moment. "What… happened?"

Uncomfortable, the medic and the twins looked away, abruptly finding the scenery very intriguing.

Wait. The cars, the pile-up. Jazz had told him to get to them. He… he remembered it, now, little bits and pieces, scraps of memory reasserting itself.

"I… did the people… ugh," He struggled to sit up, entire front aching. Singed. The fire. "There's still some in there. I have to…"

Oh no. They couldn't have possibly… but, he…

The little hand, pressed to the window, pleading eyes from between the split fingers… Oh, Primus. Oh _Primus_. He didn't mean to, he didn't. But he couldn't just push through them, couldn't swipe them aside to get to the last car, to the sparkling inside, to the people – he couldn't get them to see, to _listen_, to watch out for the fire, and, oh Primus, oh slag, he didn't mean to, didn't _mean_ to…

"Shh, Blue," Someone awkwardly patted the space between his doorwings, a soothing, comradely motion. "It's okay, you couldn't've done anything about it, shh."

Had he been saying it out loud? Yes, he must have. But… oh, _Primus_.

The gunner wrenched away, huddling in on himself, continuing to moan out the litany. "I didn't mean to, 'Swipe, I swear I didn't. Oh slag. Oh, slag, slag, slag, I didn't mean to do it. They didn't, they wouldn't – it – it wasn't – I didn't, oh _Primus_, what did I _do_?"

"You saved three," Ratchet said flatly, carefully blocking off the view of the smoldering ruins of the pile-up. "You did all you could."

But there were more, didn't he see? So many more that died, that didn't have to. Didn't they understand? Three saved against so many lives lost… it wasn't right, it wasn't _fair_. Why didn't the humans understand, he was only trying to help, to save them… and they died. They all died.

Why? Why were humans so… inhuman?


End file.
